


Sanzigil

by Lindzzz



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Bottom Thorin, Dom Bilbo, Dom/sub, Fingerfucking, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Power Play, Safewords, Sub Thorin, Subspace, Teasing, Top Bilbo, doting dom, he also has some personal issues, the most vanilla dom/sub play you will ever see ever, thorin has a praise!kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-13 21:19:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3396740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lindzzz/pseuds/Lindzzz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two times Thorin and Bilbo failed at Dom/sub play and one time that it worked VERY well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sanzigil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Avelera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avelera/gifts).



> Written for Avelera because sub!thorin was a thing we both agreed NEEDED to happen. We also both agreed on Thorin's weird issues with being praised and taken care of and his conflicting feelings of really really wanting it but also being super freaked out by it.
> 
> Also seriously I don't know hOW I managed to write a Dom/sub fic where there's a whole D/s Scene with no porn but wow I did it. This chapter is the most PG rated vanilla D/s play you'll EVER see.
> 
> Sangizil = "Mithril" in Khuzdul

Bilbo takes a deep breath, acting much calmer than he feels, as he stands in front of the kneeling King of Erebor.

Thorin simply watches him through his lashes, his breathing is perfectly even, but his lips are parted so slightly and his eyes fever bright as they watch Bilbo’s every move. He’s dressed, but only in his simple pants and loose shirt, all the bangles and furs of royalty carefully placed away. His hands sit in his lap, curling and uncurling against his thighs but they don’t move from there.

They stay where they are, because that’s where Bilbo told Thorin to keep them. Thorin is always reaching and grasping, always taking control, but his hands stay put as Bilbo’s hand rests on his head, slides fingers through the thick black hair.

As soon as Bilbo’s hand curls into his hair, Thorin relaxes with a slow sigh and fluttering lashes. It’s incredible, watching Thorin go so quiet, subdued and soft under Bilbo’s touch. Bilbo twines his fingers through Thorin’s hair, doesn’t quite pull, but tugs and pushes his hand back through the thick waves. Without a word from Bilbo, Thorin bends beneath his hand, tilts his head back with Bilbo’s palm and goes lax and dazed. His mouth parts further, lips open on a shivering breath and eyes fully on Bilbo now, his gaze soft and reverent as he keeps his head tilted back so far that his whole body moves with it.

It’s heady, watching Thorin’s entire body bow and bend back just slightly from a single touch, every inch of the King yielding to Bilbo’s hand.

"You are so beautiful." Bilbo breathes, moving his hand through Thorin’s hair. And he is. Oh how beautiful he is with his dark hair, flushed face and pink lips parted while his sharp blue eyes gaze up with wonder. But as soon as Bilbo says it there’s a small bit of the spell broken and Thorin’s languid trance shifts just a little, the eyes looking down and to the side as his back tenses up. Thorin’s head moves, without command or touch, to tilt down and away.

"No. No none of that now." Bilbo says firmly, keeping his hand in Thorin’s hair and placing the second under Thorin’s jaw. Thorin stays kneeling, keeps his hands still, and when Bilbo tilts his face back up he does it without resisting, though it wouldn’t be hard for him at all. He looks back up, but the soft yielding is gone, replaced with tense eyes and a clenched jaw.

"You are beautiful." Bilbo repeats, the hand on Thorin’s jaw moving to cup his cheek. "Nono. Come on Thorin. Eyes up here." He strokes his thumb along the skin at the top of Thorin’s cheeks, and Thorin shivers beneath the touch, but he raises his eyes back to Bilbo’s face.

"Did you know." Bilbo says conversationally. "When I first saw you, I thought some grand hero from one of my old stories had just walked into my door."

Thorin snorts a little, but says nothing. Bilbo had told him to keep quiet, and the hand in his hair gives a slow, soothing pet as a reward for sticking with it so wonderfully. Thorin’s lids flutter and his head tilts into the caress, but at Bilbo’s soft warning sound, his eyes fly back open and onto Bilbo.

"I mean it, you’re one of the most devastatingly beautiful things I’ve ever seen." Bilbo strokes his hand over Thorin’s face, and Thorin trembles beneath him. He moves his hand from Thorin’s hair down to curl over his other jaw, so Thorin’s face is held between Bilbo’s palms. He can feel the shivering against his hands, the tense trembles under his touch as he runs his fingers over the lines and planes of Thorin’s face. Bilbo draws his thumbs over the shape of Thorin’s cheekbones, defines the sharp line of Thorin’s nose with fingertips, and feels where bare skin gives way to the soft beard.

Thorin keeps his head tilted back, caught in Bilbo’s tender touches, shivering constantly, his hands fisted tight in his lap and his breaths coming in shuddering little bursts.

Bilbo leans down and presses his lips slowly to Thorin’s forehead, moves down his nose and then kisses each cheek, each brow, ignores the quiet, nearly pained noise Thorin makes.

"You’re incredible." Bilbo breathes against Thorin’s cheekbone, and Thorin shakes violently before him, his breath hitching in raw and ragged.

“‘S _anzigil_!” Thorin chokes, voice breaking over a frantic whisper. Bilbo releases him instantly and steps back, heart pounding.

"Damnit! Thorin I’m sorry, I-" His breath catches and he has to fight the urge to sweep back and gently pet the distress off of Thorin’s face. All he did was praise him and Thorin already-"I’m sorry Thorin I-"

"Come here, please." Thorin croaks, shaking still and eyes wide, and Bilbo falls to his knees down before him immediately.

"Thorin are you-" He doesn’t get to finish before Thorin’s grabbing him, crushing him tight into a hug and Bilbo lets him. He lets Thorin retake the control, lets Thorin be the one to touch and cling and fights the urge to make soothing, shushing sounds and try and sooth the shaking away.

"I’m sorry. Bilbo, I’m sorry I-"

"No. No stop that. You’re fine Thorin." Bilbo keeps himself tucked against Thorin and doesn’t reach out, only reacts and kisses back when Thorin kisses him. He wants to tell Thorin that he was wonderful, that it was perfect, but instead he clings back and lets Thorin grab and clutch at him and catch his breath.

"That…did not go as well as I had hoped." Thorin finally says, face buried into Bilbo’s hair. Bilbo sighs and leans into him.

"As long as you’re alright, love. It’s not something we have to-"

"I want to." Thorin says quickly, tightening his hold on Bilbo for a second. "I want to, I just-"

Bilbo presses a firm kiss to Thorin’s temple, careful to keep it from being too light or soft. He can’t help but sigh again, that he has found himself with probably the only mad being who can’t be soothed by soft touches. “Later, Thorin. We can try again later if you want. Alright?”

Thorin nods wordlessly, and Bilbo sighs again, relaxing into him and letting Thorin rub a hand over his back. If one didn’t know better, they’d think Bilbo was the one being comforted by it.


	2. Duin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duin: Sindarin. '(long) river'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well porn finally happened briefly, but this continues to be the most vanilla D/s fic that has ever existed. These two I swear.
> 
> And Thorin's praise!kink makes another appearance.
> 
> Warnings for dom!drop (why yes dom!drop is a thing and it is also no fun at all whatsoever)

The second time starts out much like the first.  
  
Thorin kneels on the floor again, limbs loose and hands relaxed and open against his legs. There isn’t the tense trembling this time, no sharply bunched muscles jumping in anticipation and fear.   
  
Bilbo runs a hand back over Thorin’s hair, a perfect mirror to their first try, and marvels at how Thorin could so easily fall back into this after the disaster last time. Yet here they are again, with Thorin supplicant before him, head tilting into Bilbo’s hand again, hair tangled in his fingers.   
  
He’ll need to be careful this time, Bilbo thinks, cradling Thorin’s skull in his palm, he’ll have to be slow and be sure that Thorin is well under the odd trance he’s in before they try pushing things again.  
  
Bilbo can bite and grip at him any other time, but a few devoted words and Thorin flinches away as if he were struck. It’s not something that Bilbo has any intention of giving up, certainly not. But he will have to tread carefully.   
  
For now he settles for admiring with his hands, sinking his fingers deeper into Thorin’s hair and revelling in how the dwarf leans and sways into his every move. If only he had discovered earlier, that all it took was a hand in his hair to get Thorin to settle down and grow quiet. Bilbo kneads his fingertips against Thorins skull, his other hand coming up to slide into the thick waves of hair by his temple, and chuckles softly when Thorin actually wobbles a little where he kneels.   
  
It's like having some great cat purring under his hands, though Bilbo would not make the comparison out loud. Thorin seemed to be under the absurd notion that cats were “too elven” for his liking. But it’s not much of a stretch to make the comparison, not with Thorin letting Bilbo’s hands hold his head up, his eyelids fluttering under the attention.  
  
Bilbo would think that Thorin is completely relaxed, even close to falling asleep, if it weren’t for the flush high on his cheekbones, his lips parted on quiet little pants of air that made his chest flutter in time with the rapid pulse jumping in his throat. Thorin is a well of high energy, beating fast within a lax and pliant body. All laid out and at Bilbo’s most tender of mercies.  
  
It’s a dangerously addictive thing, having Thorin like this before him. There’s an odd rush to it, like a settling calm in his limbs. Bilbo wonders if it’s at all similar to the glazed trance that Thorin falls into when he’s on his knees, this mind numbing rush that makes him far more confident than he should be.

It could be, though Bilbo looks down at the half lidded eyes, gazing at nothing in particular with wide, dark pupils, and thinks that whatever comes over him is not nearly as intense as what holds Thorin.  
  
“Lovely…” Bilbo says softly, his hand moving to rub at the skin behind Thorin’s ear. Thorin shivers, his next breath catching on a small cracked noise, and he about topples over, leaning heavily against Bilbo’s leg with his head on Bilbo’s hip. As if he were only waiting for that contact, Thorin seems to come a bit more into himself, turning his head to press his forehead to Bilbo’s hip, shivering more when Bilbo chuckles and brushes his thick hair back.  
  
“I think I could get used to this.” Bilbo goes on, congratulating his own self control at how casual he manages to keep his voice, despite his prick twitching to attention at how close Thorin is. “You all lovely and wilting like this.” He has to stop when Thorin responds by tilting his head, nuzzling against Bilbo’s hip with an open, panting mouth and _oh bugger_ that really is lovely, even through Bilbo’s trousers.

Bilbo swallows, mouth dry, and takes a slow breath to resettle himself. He focuses on the feel of Thorin’s hair under his fingers, the occasional little knot that he pauses to work through, the curls against his knuckles and silken mass beneath his palm.  
  
They’re both entirely too fixated on Thorin’s hair, Bilbo thinks with a small smile, but that’s not going to stop his petting any time soon.  
  
“I could get more work done, that much is for certain.” Bilbo goes on, once he’s gotten a tad sliver of control over his voice again. He grins when he just catches the little huff of annoyance from Thorin. “Why, imagine what I could accomplish without you grabbing at me and demanding all of my attention. Because you are demanding Thorin, there’s no use arguing that.”  
  
Thorin shifts, sighing with a bit more dramatic force than is really necessary. Bilbo shushes him and rubs his fingertips in circles against Thorin’s skull.   
  
“But if I could have you like this…” Bilbo speculates, “kneeling by my chair and perfectly lovely and docile while I pet you and work…” Thorin stops his impatient shifting, going very, very still. “Hmm,” Bilbo pretends to think, pretends his hand isn’t sliding down to the soft skin behind Thorins ear just to feel the pulse jumping there, “hmmm, yes I think I could get quite a lot done.”  
  
A terrible, blatant lie if there ever was one. Thorin is a vision of barely restrained, wanton need like this and Bilbo knows outright that there would be absolutely no work done if he had Thorin by his chair in this state.  
  
Still, judging by the way Thorin’s back to quivering under his hand, face buried against Bilbo’s hip and head tilted as if he’s waiting for Bilbo to go on...well it could be something to look into. Bilbo could pretend to work at things, pretend to be hardly aware of the quiet, shaking dwarf kneeling pretty and waiting at his side. Could run fingers back through Thorin’s hair and see how long both of them could wait like that.  
  
He swallows again, and reminds himself that that is something to try later.  
  
“Patience never really was your strongest suit.” Bilbo admits, hand shifting so he can rub a thumb at Thorin’s temple. “But…” he smiles when Thorin stills, breath nearly stopping in anticipation of Bilbo’s next words. Bilbo, for his part, feels his heart start pounding as he works up the courage to get it out, his face heating at the very un-hobbitlike lewdness he’s considering.  
  
“But…” He forces himself on, “if you’re patient and very, very good, I could let you suck me off after.”   
  
Can’t believe he just said that. Can’t believe something that blatant and _oh_ \- but Thorin’s reaction. Thorin honestly whines, a pained, breathy noise of want, and presses his face into Bilbo’s hip, mouth open against his trousers. Bilbo can hear the rasping of beard on cotton, an underscore to Thorin’s harsh panting, and it takes him a few pounding heartbeats to realize Thorin is not-so-subtly rubbing himself incrementally closer to where Bilbo’s painfully strained against his trousers.  
  
“Ah-ah-ah.” Bilbo warns, and Thorin stops cold, then makes another small whine at having been caught. “None of that now, we’re not done with you here.”  
  
Thorin doesn’t move back, but doesn’t move closer to Bilbo’s cock, and it is very, so very tempting. Bilbo’s throat is tight as his hand moves to the back of Thorin’s head, heart stopping a bit when Thorin stills further with a low noise.  
  
There’s a few seconds where they just stay like that, with the bridge of Thorin’s nose pressed to the crease in Bilbo’s hip, Bilbo’s hand on the back of his head and the two caught in a moment of breathless anticipation. Bilbo could let Thorin go on, keep a hand on the back of his head and pull himself free of his trousers with the other hand. He could bury his fingers in that thick black hair, push it out of the way so he could see those lips part and pant over the head of his cock as he guided Thorin down on him.  
  
Bilbo shuts his eyes, which does not help in the slightest, because he can still see that tantalizing image against the backs of his lids, and takes a few deep, steadying breaths.  
  
It’s then that he notices the large hand that, at some point when Bilbo had gotten lost in his thoughts, came up and rested on the back of his calf. Bilbo opens his eyes again, narrowed into a squint, and he almost laughs as Thorin very slowly slides the hand up, as if hoping he won’t get caught if he goes slow enough.  
  
“What do you think you’re doing?” Bilbo asks archly, the hand in Thorin’s hair twisting, just slightly, the grip going from calm and soothing to just a shade of harsh. Thorin freezes, but the hand doesn’t move away.  
  
Instead, fingers curl around the muscle of Bilbo’s leg,the guilty brush of a palm firming into something more sure. Thorin rolls his head slightly, just enough to look up at Bilbo, pale blue eyes reduced to just a ring around blown pupils. The glazed, distant look is gone, replaced with scorching intent and promise behind the very pointed disobedience of the hand on Bilbo’s leg.   
  
For a second, just a few breathless heartbeats, Bilbo feels caught. Thorin’s hand slides up his calf, most of his chest is pressed to Bilbo’s thigh and his cheekbone cutting sharp against Bilbo’s hip. Thorin licks his lips, pink tongue darting out and making them shine when they part on a slow exhale, his eyes never leaving Bilbo’s. It’s just a few seconds that he’s caught, just a few seconds where he almost gives in to that gaze that mouth. Maybe if he keeps his hand a fist in Thorin’s hair, uses it to pull the dwarf in and hold him, he can pretend that he’s still in control instead of giving way to Thorin.  
  
Giving way to Thorin, which is the exact opposite of what they’re trying to do here. Thorin gets his way quite enough.   
  
Bilbo grits his teeth hard enough to make his jaw ache and twists the hand in Thorin’s hair. His grip is a rough fist and he yanks harder than he really meant to, but Thorin follows the hard pull with a sharp gasp and small noise that is not entirely pain. The hand on Bilbo’s leg drops away instantly as Bilbo holds Thorin off of him by the hair at the top of his head, knuckles against Thorin’s scalp.   
  
“What,” Bilbo says again, his voice hard and sure, “do you think you’re doing?”  
  
Thorin’s throat bobs on a thick swallow, his eyes flick down briefly to the bulge in Bilbo’s trousers before darting back up to Bilbo’s face, eyes dark. Bilbo clenches the hand in Thorin’s hair, and Thorin’s next inhale is a cracked gasp that forces his mouth open.  
  
“Thorin. What are the rules here?” Bilbo asks. Thorin hisses, mouth shutting and eyes blinking rapidly, his breath coming through his nose in sharp bursts.  
  
“You can talk.” Bilbo adds. Thorin swallows again and relaxes slightly.  
  
“No talking.” Thorin says, voice a rough rasp in his throat.   
  
“And?” Bilbo prompts, giving a sharp tug that has Thorin whining and straining under his hand.  
  
“And keep my hands to myself, unless you tell me otherwise.”  
  
Bilbo sighs, exasperated. “That was two, Thorin.” He holds up two fingers with his free hand, eyebrows raising when Thorin eyes them dubiously. “We had three. Don’t be difficult, you helped me make them.”  
  
Thorin winces, mouth pulling to the side, and he manages to look at least slightly guilty as he mutters. “And I can not try to take control.”  
  
“What did you just do?”  
  
Thorin’s eyes narrow and he raises an eyebrow when he looks up at Bilbo, somehow still looking haughty despite the hand fisted in his hair, the high flush to his cheeks, and the painful looking bulge between his legs. “Tried to get you to let me suck your prick?” He says drolly.  
  
Bilbo could scream. Curse his love for a ridiculous, contrary, stubborn king of a dwarf who can’t settle on what he actually wants! But he doesn’t scream. Instead he steps in the scant inches still between him and Thorin, yanking Thorin’s head back by his hair until his throat is fully bared.   
  
Thorin gasps with a creaking sound of surprise, eyes flying wide open as his neck cranes back as far as it can go. The cockiness leaves him in the harsh gasps and hard shivers that wrack his body in Bilbo’s hold.  
  
“I don’t know what you’re trying for here.” Bilbo says carefully. “But if you’re playing at some game at pushing and disobeying and hoping for some punishment...” Thorin twitches, a quick little spasm and wince and yes, that was it. Bilbo suspected as much. “I thought so. I’m not here for that. If we’re doing this, then you follow the rules we set. If you don’t, I’m not going to punish you, or chastise you or whatever else it is you want me to do, I’ll just stop. This will stop. You understand?”  
  
Thorin’s expression is unreadable, for all that it’s open and yielding. His eyes look over Bilbo’s face for a few breaths, then break away, looking down and to the side. The slow exhale Thorin releases seems to ease something out with it, and Thorin slowly, carefully starts to go lax again. Another slow breath, and he nods, jaw working on whatever thoughts he’s holding in.  
  
Probably apologies, if Bilbo were to take a guess. There were multiple reasons he had behind the ‘no talking’ rule.   
  
He unwinds his fingers from the hard grip in Thorin’s hair, carefully smoothing the strands back down in slow, rhythmic strokes. He massages his fingertips into the scalp where he had pulled earlier, and sighs when Thorin melts under the touches, the relaxed, pliant bend coming back to his body more and more with each run of Bilbo’s hand over his head.  
  
“You _are_ doing very well.” Bilbo says gently, smiling a bit when Thorin shivers and breathes out a slow, shaking sound. He thinks that one of these sessions (and he’s already thinking like there will still be more of them), he’ll have to get Thorin pliant like this, then spend a good long time massaging the rest of his body instead of just his hair. Thorin could probably use it, it’d be nice seeing just how limp he could get, and Bilbo may have some ulterior motives behind wanting a chance to get his hands on all of Thorin’s muscles unimpeded.   
  
For now, he stays with what he knows works, and continues his steady massaging strokes until Thorin is quiet, his eyes glazed over and throat jumping on small, unhurried little breaths.  
  
“You really are.” Bilbo goes on, moving his hand to graze the back of his knuckles down Thorin’s cheek, turning his wrist when Thorin tilts his head towards the touch, letting him press his face against Bilbo’s palm. “I know this is difficult. But you’re doing so wonderfully. Even with your little bump there, you didn’t talk until I said you could.”  
  
Bilbo drags the hand on Thorin’s cheek down to his neck, laying his palm over the thudding pulse and sliding his thumb into the hollow under the cut of Thorin’s jaw, revelling in the feel of soft beard over warm skin, the way Thorin tilts his head back and to the side a little with a flicker of his eyelids, and in the echoes of Thorin’s quick little breaths against his palm.  
  
“You always think you need to push things, need to take over and control everything.” Bilbo rubs his thumb under Thorin’s jaw, sighing when Thorin closes his eyes and relaxes more. Bilbo feels a little like it’s just his hand on Thorin’s neck holding the dwarf up. A single point of contact keeping Thorin together, and if Bilbo pulled away Thorin would collapse where he knelt.  
  
Bilbo carefully lowers himself, settling on one knee in front of Thorin, not moving his hand. Thorin cracks his eyes open, watching through his lashes as Bilbo settles before him, settling another hand on Thorin’s shoulder and gently working his fingers into the muscle there.  
  
“This is really the only way you’ll let me take care of you?” Bilbo asks, knowing the answer, and knowing that Thorin won’t break their rules by answering. And he doesn’t. Thorin shuts his eyes again, swallows and leans hard into the hand on his neck when it comes up to cradle his face again. Bilbo watches Thorin inhale against his hand, and knows that the answer is a very loud and resounding ‘yes.’  
  
He scoots closer, Thorin’s knees between his own, and the hand on Thorin’s shoulder slides down over his broad chest. Bilbo splays his fingers out, feels the heartbeat thudding hard under his hand and rubs the thumb on Thorin’s face in in light, comforting circles over his cheek.  
  
“Do you trust me?” Bilbo asks. And he isn’t asking much in this, but for Thorin he’s asking so much. He knows it. Knows that he’s asking Thorin to sit there and let things happen to him, to tolerate kindness and not be allowed to redirect the focus off himself. Thorin may have been the one to bring this up, but if their last session was any indication, he hardly had thought about how much of a toll simply accepting care would take on him.  
  
Thorin breathes out slowly, mouth opening a little against Bilbo’s palm, a little point of wet heat that’s just shy of a kiss. He inhales again, turns his face more into Bilbo’s touch, then nods.  
  
“Good.” Bilbo leans in, kisses Thorin softly on his other cheek, and keeps his lips there, kissing down to Thorin’s jaw and whispering soft, wordless noises against his beard when Thorin trembles.  
  
“You remember our rules?” Bilbo murmurs against Thorin’s jaw, the hand over Thorin’s heart slowly, surely, painfully, falling downwards with a firm press of his whole palm to Thorin’s chest, sternum, stomach. Thorin nods sharply.  
  
No talking.  
  
No touching, hands stay where they are.  
  
No taking control.  
  
Thorin has to sit, stay quiet, and simply let things happen to him. So little. And so much.  
  
Thorin’s muscles jump under his hand, stomach sucking in on a sharp breath and Bilbo rubs soothing broad circles. They do nothing to stop the shaking of course, but he didn’t expect them to.  
  
“You remember your word?” He asks, hand dipping down further and stopping at the top of Thorin’s trousers. They kept clothing loose and simple for this, and even Bilbo is only in a trousers with a simple shirt, even his bracers left off.  
  
Thorin tilts his face from Bilbo’s hand into Bilbo’s soft kisses, breath hitching hard and fast. Bilbo keeps his hand where it is, kisses up from jawline to Thorin’s cheeks, over to his nose, and waits.  
  
Thorin exhales, relaxes, nods.  
  
“Good,” Bilbo breathes, his own pulse jumping when his hand goes down and unfastens Thorin’s trousers. It’s a bit absurd, he thinks, how his heart pounds and his arm jolts when his fingers slide against hot velvety skin and Thorin chokes on a broken sound. He’s had his hand down Thorin’s trousers plenty of times, he’s had Thorin in mouth and in his arse for goodness sake! This is far from anything new, far from the first time he’s pulled Thorin’s cock out of his open trousers like this, heavy and thick in his hand.  
  
It is the first time Bilbo’s been able to slowly slide his open palm from the thick curls at the base of Thorin’s cock to the wet tip, feeling soft skin and throbbing veins. First time he’s been able to keep touches light and exploring, without Thorin grabbing at him and pushing him, without an insistent mouth on his neck, on his chest, without broad hands distracting him. Thorin was never against Bilbo touching him, and had spent himself from Bilbo’s hand enough times, but Bilbo had never really been able to simply explore and enjoy at his leisure.  
  
So he takes his leisure, rests his cheek on Thorin’s jaw as he looks down between them. Thorin’s cock is painfully flushed and fully erect, straining with the rest of Thorin and jumping slightly under Bilbo’s touches. Bilbo keeps those touches light, brushing fingertips up the length.  
  
Thorin, usually so vocal, only whines on small sounds that get caught in his throat, breaking through on desperate wheezing, needy sounds.   
  
Bilbo circles his fingers over the crown of Thorin’s cock, sliding his thumb through the drips of fluid that gather at the tip, and Thorin whimpers a sound that could have been words, his whole body jerking.  
  
“Sshhh.” Bilbo soothes, taking his gaze from the captivating sight of Thorin’s cock in his hand to press his mouth to Thorin’s cheekbone. He keeps it there, eyes shut and whispering endearments against Thorin’s skin. “Sshh it’s alright. I’ve got you. You’re doing very well Thorin.”  
  
Thorin chokes on another sound, breaks into a high keen when Bilbo finally wraps his hand around the girth of him, closing Thorin’s cock in his grip and dragging his fist up the length. Thorin moans then, a low wrecked sound that drags him from his chest.  
  
“That’s it, I’ve got you.” Bilbo whispers, keeping one hand on Thorin’s cheek as he presses his lips to the other, holding Thorin there while his hand moves over his cock in slow, dragging steady strokes.  
  
Each of Thorin’s breaths is gasps through an open mouth, broken in his throat and rushed out. He trembles weakly in front of Bilbo, back bending so he’s curled in towards the smaller body, like he’s being pulled in and held together by Bilbo.   
  
“You’re doing wonderfully.” Bilbo says, pressing a harder kiss against the corner of Thorin’s mouth when Thorin quivers at Bilbo’s words. “You’re doing so well Thorin, you’re marvelous. You always are, and I’m the luckiest hobbit in the world to know you, to see you like this.”  
  
He can hardly stop the words now that they’ve started, now that Thorin can’t stop them up with hard kisses that take his breath away. Thorin bows in more, hips twitching up into his hand and breath coming in harsher and harsher gasps.  
  
“You’re alright. It’s alright. I’ve got you.” Bilbo shushes, kisses back over Thorin’s cheek. Thorin’s body twitches on another wracking gasp, a desperate gulping inhale.  
  
Bilbo’s heart stops when his lips hit wet streaks. He tastes salt on his tongue and feels all the heat in him drain out in a gut twisting rush. He pulls back, and the cold horror sinks in when he sees the streaks of tears on Thorin’s face.  
  
Thorin hadn’t said anything, he had the word to stop! Why would he- what was wrong? What did Bilbo do wrong?!  
  
He pulls his hand from Thorin’s cock, heart pounding and chest far too tight for how wild it is. He messed this up, again! Somehow! He didn’t even notice-  
  
But Thorin still was curled towards him, still shivering under the hand on his cheek (didn’t even notice the tears there, too caught up thinking you were doing well to notice! Well done Mister Baggins!).  
  
“Duin!” Bilbo gasps. He’d only picked a word to make it fair, and if anything would stop Thorin it would be Sindarin, but had hardly expected that he’d need it.  
  
Though Thorin had been so sure that he’d never need to use his word, and they knew how well that worked.  
  
Thorin jolts violently, jerking away from Bilbo and sucking in a breath as if he’d come up from drowning, blinking rapidly with wide, almost panicked eyes.  
  
“What-?”  
  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I didn’t-” Bilbo starts shaking, unable to stop the slowly growing anxious grip on him that started closing in as soon as he noticed the tears. “Thorin you’re crying!”  
  
Thorin shakes himself, pants and blinks in a daze, eyebrows coming together as he tries to orient himself. “What? Why did you-”  
  
“You’re crying!” Bilbo repeats, as if that wasn’t already obvious.  
  
Thorin stares at him, mouth shutting and jaw clenching, face breaking out into a sweat as he comes more out of the trance he’d been in. “You don’t trust me to know my own limits?” He asks, voice low and hard.   
  
“What-?” Bilbo can hardly think past the clawing panic that won’t let him go.  
  
“I trusted you and I expected you to trust me to know when to call out!” Thorin snaps, hands fisting against his trousers. “You’re supposed to trust me! Don’t take that decision from me! I called out before, I know when I need to use it! I’m fine!”  
  
“I’m not!” Bilbo yells, and he isn’t! Though he can hardly name why, he knows dwarves don’t have the same ideas as hobbits do about tears. Dwarves cry as easily as they laugh, and with just as little shame. But the shock of it, of thinking he had mucked it all up right when it was finally going well, won’t let him go.  
  
Thorin’s glower drops into a wide eyed shock, his mouth opening and shutting a few times and his hands slowly come up to rest on Bilbo’s back, pulling him in.  
  
“I do not think that can be something I can stop in the future…” Thorin says softly, rubbing slow circles between Bilbo’s shoulder blades. “To be honest, I am not fully aware of everything when...it’s very overwhelming, but not in a way that I dislike.”  
  
Bilbo nods, head dropping to rest on Thorin’s shoulder. “No no, I think I can be find later. I just...well didn’t expect that. I think it just threw me out of it all. It is ah, a bit overwhelming isn’t it? That’s a good word. Sorry about that-” Bilbo winces, mouth pulling to the side in a bit of disgust at his own silly head. He sighs, still annoyed with himself, when Thorin kisses him on the top of the head. This is ridiculous. His heart is slowing to a steadier beat, and the entire situation is hitting him as he sits in Thorin’s arms, with Thorin’s softening cock lying out ignored between them. They really can not get this right.  
  
“You are sure you will be alright with it next time?” Thorin asks.  
  
“You still want there to be a next time?” Bilbo certainly isn’t protesting, but after the last two tries…  
  
Thorin clears his throat, hands flexing briefly against Bilbo’s back. “It was...I liked it.” He says awkwardly. “It makes sense that we would need to make a few tries, with something such as this. I don’t mind trying again, if you would like to…?” The question trails off, unusually hesitant for Thorin.  
  
Bilbo thinks of the heady thrill that had filled him when he had Thorin first on his knees, the calming and heated confidence that drowned out the usual constant clamour and jumpy chatter that was his head. Overwhelming, but in a good way. Just like Thorin had said.  
  
“I-...yeah. I want to. Definitely. We’ll get it down eventually.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed the tags have been updated. This fic has finally earned it's rating with nearly 7k of porn. Hope you enjoy!

  
Time has soothed much of the bristling anger Thorin always carried with him, time and a great deal of patience, if Bilbo were to say so. The King Under The Mountain was a calmer, more patient and grounded dwarf then the one who had prowled out of Bag End ages ago. Kingship took to Thorin well, the weight of the mountain kept him stable where it would have crushed others, and even the haunted shadows left by the Dragonsickness come over him less and less.  
  
He is, however, still Thorin. Which Bilbo is reminded of on a fairly regular basis.  
  
The day had begun well enough, though Thorin was pulled away early to meet with dignitaries from a few northern kingdoms of men who wished to open new trade routes to Erebor. Bilbo would have paid more attention, but he only got as far as to determine that his presence as Consort wouldn’t be required and was all too quick to escape from what would have surely been an incredibly dull day. Sometimes he is eager to meet with new folk from different lands, but sometimes he would much prefer staying tucked away with a book.  
  
There’s a roaring fire in the royal chambers keeping the winter air out, working with hot air channelled from the forges through the entire mountain to keep things wonderfully cozy even as high up as the King’s rooms. Bilbo is all too happy to get to the business of settling down in his armchair with his books, plenty of tea, and some quiet.  
  
It had been perfectly lovely, Bilbo thinks, sighing quietly to himself as the door to the chambers slams open like an explosion and the King Under the Mountain storms in as dark as a roiling cloud.  
  
Thorin slams the heavy door hard enough that Bilbo worries briefly about the hinges, before remembering that they WERE dwarvish made and likely made to withstand dwarvish temper. He sips his tea and watches, thoroughly unimpressed by the royal rage before him.  
  
“Did the meetings not go well?” He asks mildly, and Thorin’s fist clench as he marches in and instantly begins pacing, the fur lined greatcoat swirling oh so dramatically with every turn he makes.  
  
“The esteemed Siginkanân,” Thorin spits the word like it’s poison, and Bilbo has no doubt that whatever the translation is, it is incredibly rude, “were less concerned with talking of borders and routes and more interested in gossip and rumor!”  
  
Rumor? Bilbo tilts his head, mouth twisting as he tries to figure out what sort of rumors would get Thorin so worked up. Frustration was one thing but this was the sort of rage Bilbo usually only saw after meetings with King Thranduil.   
  
Just then he takes in the tight clench of Thorin’s fists, so tight that thick knuckles are stark white, veins standing out against the back of his hand. Thorin’s jaw is clenched so tight as he paces and snarls in Khuzdul to himself, eyes blazing and shoulders hunched up and forward, almost as if shielding himself. It all hits Bilbo then, that there’s only one other thing besides Thranduil that gets Thorin so worked up.  
  
It did not matter how long he had been leading Erebor into prosperity and old glory, when tales of madness and greed could still be thrown up like old refuse.  
  
“You know they’re wrong.” Bilbo says gently, and Thorin stops in his pacing, back to Bilbo and still clenched up with rage.  
  
“Are they?” Thorin growls over his shoulder, and his hair may hide his face, but Bilbo can just picture the fierce snarl. “Nothing they spoke of was untrue.”  
  
Bilbo presses his lips together, frowning tightly as he looks at the back of the most infuriating thing to ever disturb his peace in the most welcome of ways. Once those nightmarish weeks of sickness were brought up, Thorin was always sure to work himself further and further over it, pulling away and going on and on punishing himself for faults that were long ago soothed over.   
  
Meanwhile, Thorin has resumed his pacing, voice a low heated growl over a rapid stream of words that flow from Westron to Khuzdul. At this rate Bilbo will get a headache before he can even think of how to try and get Thorin to just settle down.  
  
“Thorin.” He says shortly, snapping his book shut and only meaning to interrupt the rant before Thorin can work himself up to a shout.  
  
Thorin freezes, stopping mid-step and going into a tense, quiet stillness, head tilted slightly in Bilbo’s direction.  
  
And, oh. Oh.  
  
Bilbo hadn’t thought of that. Hadn’t meant for any form of command to slip into his tone, but that...well it’s a risk. It’s a huge risk, and it seems a bad idea to try it now when Thorin is already so agitated, especially when the last few time ended in such an emotionally draining mess.  
  
And yet…  
  
Bilbo swallows and sets his book in his lap, forcing himself to stay calm and tilt his chin up, though his heart is racing. “Take all that showy king nonsense off, and come here.”   
  
Thorin turns a little, just enough to look at Bilbo over his shoulder. His pale eyes are still crackling and sharp as they appraise the hobbit sitting nicely in a worn armchair by the fire with a simple cotton shirt and a worn book in his lap. Bilbo can feel the dichotomy between them, knows how small and plain and quaint he must look in this vast hall of stone, where even the window Thorin had carved from the mountainside in their room just for Bilbo is a wide thing of complicated lines and glass. Thorin is resplendent in velvets and furs, the crown on his head only completing the look of something vast and powerful, while Bilbo is very much nothing more than a hobbit.  
  
Bilbo holds his gaze and tilts his head briefly to the wardrobe and dressers on the other side of the room, eyebrows going up as if to say ‘get on with it.’  
  
Thorin narrows his eyes, and Bilbo does not change his face, only holding the gaze. His heart pounds and he can feel the tension between them like some physical line pulling taught. Thorin could refuse and there would be nothing to it, could resume his pacing or storm out and things would be business as usual. That is entirely the King’s decision, and Bilbo is silent as he waits for it.  
  
There’s another few seconds, then Thorin blinks, his jaw tenses, but he holds Bilbo’s eyes as he reaches up and takes the crown off slowly.   
  
It’s ridiculous, but Bilbo feels he could nearly collapse with relief, and his mouth goes dry as he realizes that this is definitely happening. He nods to the dressers again. “Well? The rest of it.”   
  
Thorin hesitates for only a moment, and he’s scowling mutinously but still marches to the dresser and sets the crown on it’s carved stone holder. There’s nothing seductive or even subdued about the way he begins to angrily yank off his greatcoat and the velvet outer layers of his clothes with quick jerks.  
  
Bilbo rolls his eyes at the furious little display and opens his book, pretending to casually and cooly read the words that blur together in front of him as his mind races.  
  
“The boots as well.” He adds as an afterthought. There’s a pause by the wardrobe, then the heavy clunks of the iron-soled boots being yanked off. Bilbo turns the page, though he hasn’t read a thing, and struggles to keep himself from blinking too much or showing the hitch in his breath when heavy footsteps lead to Thorin standing over him in his plain cotton shirt and soft trousers.  
  
Bilbo can feel the heat he’s letting off, and can see one fist still tightly clenched and hear the short, frustrated huff when Bilbo fails to look up from his book at the looming dwarf. Bilbo turns the page again, ignores the louder huff that follows it, and gives Thorin a few more minutes to shift indecisively on his feet before he looks up.  
  
When he does, it’s a quick glance, a frown, and a head tilt with a significant look at the floor by the armrest of the chair. The impertinence of it sends a scandalized thrill up his spine, and he has to remind himself that being impertinent and commanding is entirely the point.  
  
Thorin does not drop as quick as he did before, but still slides down to one knee, then the other not taking his eyes from Bilbo’s face.  
  
Bilbo shuts his book again and smiles warmly, reaching out and running the back of his fingers down Thorin’s cheek. “Very good.”   
  
Thorin inhales sharply, throat bobbing as he leans slightly into Bilbo’s touch, but his eyes are still alight and focused into a hard glare. His back is still straight and tense, and Bilbo frowns as he runs fingers through Thorin’s beard and watches the muscles of his jaw tick. Bilbo moves his hand to Thorin’s hair, sinking into the thick curls and carding his fingers through the length of it, hoping for the usual lax ease that comes with playing with Thorin’s hair.  
  
Thorin exhales in a short, punch of air, eyelids fluttering and a flush rising to his cheeks, though there’s still the tense clench in his jaw, hands still fists at his sides and the next breath he takes is stuttered and forced.  
  
Bilbo pauses, wondering what on earth the matter is now. “Thorin, you don’t need to do this if you don’t want to.” He points out, hand pausing in it’s slow pets. Thorin blinks again, mouth twisting as he struggles through whatever is going through that mess of a head.  
  
“Hit me.” He finally grits out through his teeth, and Bilbo’s hand yanks back as if burned, his heart clenching in his chest.   
  
“What?”   
  
“You are supposed to.” Thorin says stiffly, glaring up as if daring Bilbo to do it. “With this kind of thing. You are too gentle.”  
  
They never discussed hitting before, or anything rough of the sort. As far as Bilbo knew this was about the control, about Thorin making himself vulnerable and willingly giving that control over. This sudden change makes something shift uncomfortably in Bilbo’s guts.  
  
“Is that what you want me to do?” Bilbo asks seriously, and narrows his eyes when Thorin only swallows and glares at him.  
  
Thorin, who scowls and clenches his fists and kneels as if he’s bracing himself for something hard and painful. Who could hardly stand gentle touches or praising words when he’s so used to harshness. Thorin who loves finding new ways to punish himself.  
  
“Hit me!” Thorin snarls, eyes blazing and teeth snapping over the command.  
  
Bilbo sighs, his chest aching and twisting for this ridiculous, melodramatic fool he’s fallen for. He reaches out again, softly brushing his fingertips over the edge of Thorin’s cheekbone.   
  
Thorin flinches as if the light caress was the blow he had demanded, the hard edge in his eyes fading away in a fluttering blink of lashes.  
  
“You’re not supposed to be talking.” Bilbo says softly, laying his palm along the side of Thorin’s face. “And you’re not the one giving orders here.”  
  
Thorin sucks in a breath, eyes going wide, then closing slowly as he leans into Bilbo’s hand. He breathes out, relaxing with a slow and shaking exhale through his lips, then gives the smallest, almost imperceptible nod.   
  
“Much better.” Bilbo breathes, and turns in the chair so he can bring his other hand to slide along the cut of Thorin’s jaw, smiling when Thorin sways into the touches. “Are you going to try and make it difficult for me every time? Don’t answer that, by the way. I already know the answer. Your skill at making things difficult astounds me, you’re an artisan about it, truly you are.”   
  
Thorin snorts, but leans more into Bilbo’s caresses.  
  
“Open your eyes for me.” Bilbo murmurs, smiling as Thorin obeys, all traces of the hard fire gone and lost behind blown pupils. Bilbo leans forward and presses his forehead to Thorin’s, taking a moment to breathe the air between them and run the pads of his thumbs along Thorin’s cheeks with his fingers buried in the thick, soft beard.  
  
“What you’ve done now, what you’ve been doing, it’s so much more than any wrongs you’ve done before.” Bilbo says, holding Thorin still with the hands on his face. “You’ve rebuilt this place and wiped the sickness from the mountain. You’ve done so much for this kingdom, and so much for me. Whatever some pack of men may say, their words are nothing compared to the truth of everything you have accomplished.”   
  
None of the words are new, though Bilbo has never been able to get quite so much out at once before being stopped with a hard kiss or, in one particularly painful instance, a finger laid to his lips in a silent plea. Thorin shivers just slightly, but does not try to move away or make Bilbo stop, and Bilbo rewards him by running one of his hands through his hair, burying his hand under the thick curls and letting the tendrils curl between his fingers. It’s a good thing Thorin is so fond of having his hair played with, because Bilbo really doubts he could ever tire of it.   
  
He presses his lips to Thorin’s forehead, slides them down the bridge of Thorin’s nose, lays kisses to each cheek. Gentleness is easy, but it’s hard to resist the luxurious mass of hair in his hand. Bilbo doesn’t hold out long before he gives in, grabbing a mass of it in his fist and holding it tight in a harsh grip that contrasts the feather light kisses against Thorin’s face.  
  
Thorin tilts his chin up sharply with a small, high noise, and Bilbo pulls away just to admire the view of Thorin’s glassy eyes half shuttered behind dark lashes, cheeks flushed and hair in disarray around his face, lips parted around quick little breaths and begging for more kisses.   
  


And Bilbo’s always considered himself to be the generous sort after all, so how could he in good conscious deny such a pretty request?   
  
He keeps Thorin held in place with the hand tight in his hair and another on his jaw, tilting his face up more and perfectly angling him for Bilbo to lean in and brush his lips against Thorin’s. It’s hardly a kiss at first, only a faint caress, a shared breath and slow exploration, a barely there touch that sends sparks down Bilbo’s spine that light all the more when Thorin strains under his hands trying to lean forward.   
  
“Stay right there.” Bilbo whispers, so close that the words are danced over Thorin’s still parted lips. Thorin’s breath hitches, a small, frustrated sound catching in his throat, obviously fighting with ever fiber to stop from pushing forward and deepening the light teasing kisses.   
  
Bilbo lets him squirm for a few minutes with only the barest touch between their lips. It serves him right, Thorin’s far too used to getting what he wants when he wants it. For someone who went years with nothing, Thorin could be dreadfully demanding, and he could certainly learn a bit of patience.   
  
Finally, Thorin relaxes again and stops tugging against the hand holding him by the hair. As soon as he stops pulling, Bilbo gives in and crushes his mouth to Thorin’s. It’s so far from the little brushes before, and leaning over Thorin, holding him still and biting into his mouth sends a wild thrill through Bilbo. It’s a reverse of their usual position, and Thorin’s whine, the way he opens his mouth easily for Bilbo’s tongue and gives way is almost more than Bilbo can take.   
  
Bilbo bites down on Thorin’s bottom lip, just for the cracked noise it pulls from the dwarf, and pulls back just enough to breath in and press their foreheads together again. Thorin shivers under him, mouth still open and swollen, red and wet from the rough kisses, panting raggedly.   
  
Oh help him, that’s just from one kiss. Bilbo’s not sure how he’ll survive any more, but gods does he want it. He wants feel every inch of skin, to see Thorin bending and arching beneath his touch, pliant and needing. Wants to see what other sounds he can pull from Thorin, to hear him gasping and barely able to draw breath between his cries, to see Thorin undone and pulled apart and desperate for nothing but Bilbo. He wants to see that hair sticking to sweat slicked skin beneath him, see muscles jumping and straining under the slightest touch and hear Thorin’s low smoldering voice begging for more, for an end, for anything Bilbo would give.  
  
“You know the rules?” Bilbo asks, releasing his grip against Thorin’s head to run his hand down the expanse of hair.  
  
Thorin shuts his mouth, swallows and nods.  
  
“And you know your word?”   
  
Another nod, sharp and quick.

“Good. That’s good. That’s very-” Bilbo swallows, biting his lip before he starts babbling and struggles to keep his pounding heart under control. For the love of everything green let it all go well this time! He can do this, he can keep it all together and make this work.  
  
He takes a breath, come now Bilbo, you can do this.  
  
“Get up, take your clothes off, and get to the bed. Lying on your back, if you would please.” He may be planning on gently destroying any sense of control Thorin has and leaving him a wrung out wreck, but there’s no reason not to stick to some basic manners about it.   
  
Thorin blinks, eyes wide and face turning a new shade of pink, looking dazed and lost for a second when Bilbo lets go of him and sits back in his chair.  
  
“Well? Off you go then.” Bilbo prompts, waving a hand towards the bed.  
  
Thorin’s up and pulling his shirt up so fast that Bilbo can hardly track the movement and he considers telling Thorin to slow down for goodness sake so Bilbo can enjoy the view!  
  
Not that the view now is anything to complain about he concedes, watching as Thorin leans back against the plush furs piled against the winter, propped on his elbows with his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, a bit of the regal confidence coming back in the eyebrow he raises in Bilbo’s direction. Shameless in his nakedness as always, even with his cock untouched but already lying thick and flushed between his legs.  
  
“Cheeky.” Bilbo harrumphs, putting his book aside and striding to the bed, doing his best to ignore his own rapidly swelling erection. Later, he can deal with that later.   
  
Right now, he reminds himself, it’s all about Thorin, who is looking far too pleased and confident. Bilbo climbs onto the bed, sitting by Thorin’s hip and placing a hand on the darkly furred chest, taking the chance to nestle his fingers through the soft hair to the warm skin beneath where Thorin’s heartbeat jumps against his palm. He only has to give the slightest pressure and Thorin’s breath is hitching as he lets himself be pushed fully down onto the bed.  
  
“Very good.” Bilbo praises, running his hand in small circles over Thorin’s chest, catching the pad of his thumb over a pebbled nipple. Thorin arches under the touch with a reedy whine, eyes alight as he watches Bilbo with a nervous anticipation.  
  
“Sshhh…” Bilbo runs his hand in ever widening circles over Thorin’s chest, pressing the heel of his palm to sternum and massaging his fingers into tense muscles. Thorin writhes under the touches, hands grabbing roughly at the furs at his sides and twisting them in his fists, his gasps sliding into desperate whines.   
  
“I’m hardly touching you, settle down now.” Bilbo sighs, sliding his hand from Thorin’s chest to rest lightly over the side of his neck, feeling the jumping pulse as Thorin quivers. “Close your eyes, and keep them shut.” Bilbo says softly, “and put your hands above your head, very good, that’s lovely. Keep them there, is that understood?”  
  
Thorin only manages a cracked sound, fingers sinking into the pillow under his head. The shivering starts up again as soon as his eyes shut, little tremors that run up and down his body in jolts. Bilbo makes wordless shushing sounds, taking in the pale skin, burnished in firelight and already shining with sweat just at this slightest relinquish of control.   
  
“You’re doing wonderfully.” Bilbo assures Thorin, one hand still at his pulse as the other smooths down Thorin’s side, fingers dipping into the spaces between ribs, gliding over muscles and pausing for light, sweet traces of the scars both faded and new.   
  
Bilbo finds one in particular, well healed and old, but newer than all the rest. A gash of knotted up tissue over Thorin’s left lung, torn just under the broad expanse of his chest. He closes his eyes briefly, lays his hand over it and leans over to press his forehead to Thorin’s.  
  
“You are so lovely.” He breathes, laying a kiss to Thorin’s sweat slicked forehead and looking down at the gorgeous expanse of warm skin shaded with dark hair and shivering over bunched, hard muscle. “I still can’t quite believe you’re real at times, even after getting to see you nearly every night. I could certainly get used to this though. You laid out just for me, beautiful and soft in ways no one else sees. Humming under my hand like a particularly sweet instrument. Yes I could definitely get very addicted to this.”   
  
Thorin squirms under Bilbo’s wandering hand, arching and twisting with each gliding touch on him. But he doesn't protest, and Bilbo drags the hand from Thorin’s pulsepoint up over his jaw, sweeping over his cheekbones, and sinking into his now damp hair. Thorin’s head tilts back instantly, throat bobbing and mouth opening on a ragged breath. Bilbo’s wandering hand dips further, dragging over Thorin’s stomach, pausing to sink briefly into the layer of flesh over hard muscle, twisting through the hair leading down to where Thorin’s cock is now jutting out.  
  
“Couldn’t ask for a sweeter feast.” Bilbo muses, and Thorin is definitely far gone if he can’t even make a noise protesting being compared to meal. Just to make sure he doesn't start, Bilbo leans in and takes Thorin’s bottom lip lightly between his teeth, licking in and easing back when Thorin jumps forward to deepen the kiss. He stays just outside of touching, just close enough to breath in the ragged noise that’s dragged from Thorin’s throat when Bilbo dances his fingers up his cock. Thorin’s hips jerk up and the suppressed, strangled noises break into a low and hoarse moan when Bilbo wraps his hand fully around him.

“Sshhh that’s it. I have you Thorin, settle down now.” Lips open over Thorin’s jaw, tasting the sweat caught in his beard and the heated skin beneath. Bilbo mouths over the expanse of throat opened before him, pressing his tongue to Thorin’s pulse and slowly moving his loose fist over the heavy cock that feels like a brand in his light grip. “I’ve got you.” Bilbo murmurs into the hollow at the base of Thorin’s throat, “I’ve got you, love.” He repeats, teeth catching over collarbones, scraping down over hard muscle and closing briefly on a hard nub. Thorin doesn’t thrash, but he groans into the heated air over them, eyes screwed shut and teeth bared around his moans.  
  
He eventually has to release his hold in Thorin’s hair, his hand sliding down after him as he puts tongue, lips, and teeth to every inch of Thorin he can easily reach. Bilbo mouths at the heated skin over Thorin’s heart, leaves a trail of slow, wet kisses trailing down his stomach, bites at the soft flesh under Thorin’s navel, tasting the heat and spice of him mixed with the sweat in the trail of hair leading down. He follows it till Thorin’s cock, still caught in his light grasp, is a hot brand against his cheek, and he turns to nuzzle at the base and breath in the thick, heady smell.  
  
Bilbo is just thinking that Thorin is doing remarkably well, for all that he hates teasing, when...well...  
  
“Bilbo!” Thorin gasps, voice rough and thready. “Get on with it!”  
  
And they were making such progress. Bilbo sits up, takes his hand off Thorin’s cock, and raises his eyebrows at the infuriated growl that earns him. Thorin doesn’t, however, take his hands down from where Bilbo had him grip the pillow, nor does he open his eyes, interesting.  
  
“We have rules.” Bilbo points out. “You remember what I said last time? That if you went and started breaking them, then I’d stop. Remember that?”  
  
“Don’t-” Thorin starts, clenching his teeth and biting out a harsh sound that Bilbo is certain was probably some unpleasant Khuzdul.  
  
“That rule counts no matter what language you’re spouting.”  
  
“Damn you Bilbo! Stop all this teasing and-”  
  
“Thorin.” Bilbo says firmly, putting a hand to Thorin’s stomach and nodding to himself when Thorin stills. “You don’t get to demand anything. You don’t order. You don’t get what you want. This isn’t about what you want. Everything that happens, everything you do, is what I want.”  
  
The fabric under Thorin’s hands twists, creaking ominously while Thorin stares at Bilbo with a raw, almost shocked expression.  
  
“Do you want to call out?”  
  
Thorin shakes his head in a single quick jerk.  
  
“Then shush. I don’t want to hear any more words from you unless you start begging.” Thorin tenses, and Bilbo reaches up to slide his fingers through Thorin’s hair again, tracing the edge of a curved ear and twining silken strands through his fingers.   
  
“It’s alright love.” Biblo soothes, and Thorin relaxes, sinks back into the furs and leans his head into the hand running through his hair, no longer gasping but still darting in quick, fluttering breaths as he quiets and turns boneless under Bilbo’s patient hand. His eyes shut again, and while Bilbo’s sad to see the pale blue go, the sweeping smudge of lashes is just as beautiful.  
  
“Very good, you’re doing so well Thorin.” A quick gasp, catching and breaking ragged, and Bilbo sneaks a quick kiss to Thorin’s throat.  
  
“Stay there for just a moment love. Keep your hands up, and don’t open your eyes.” It’s a great testament to Bilbo’s strength of character that he’s able to move away. As soon as he does, Thorin jumps a little, gripping hard at the pillow and arms shaking over his head. He makes a protesting sound when he no doubt feels the dip of the mattress from Bilbo getting up, his breath picking up slightly and skin jumping in the cooler air.  
  
“I’m right here, not going anywhere love. Gods but you’re gorgeous, not like I could go anywhere with you looking like that.” Bilbo babbles, hardly able to keep his eyes off Thorin as he grabs the bottle of oil from it’s usual place at the bedside table and clambers back up onto the bed.   
  
“Part your thighs, more than that, there we go. Now bend your knees up- that's perfect love.” Bilbo moves to settle between Thorin’s legs, running his hands up to press at the tender skin just under Thorin’s knees, bending his legs up and spreading them out that much further. “Very good.”  
  
He takes a moment to enjoy the view again. Really, he's never going to get tired of that. Thorin’s head is flung back against the pillow, the knot in his throat bobbing as he swallows and pants into the warm air. Bilbo’s eyes follow the path down his body, down the hair that starts over Thorin’s broad chest and traces over his stomach in a line that leads right to the thick and flushed cock jutting in front of Bilbo. A pebble of pre-come leaks out the engorged tip, dripping down stickily over the veins down to glisten in the nest of hair at the base, and Bilbo swears his mouth waters.  
  
It’s hard to decide where to start, between the quivering, hard muscled thighs on either side of him, the strained cock before him, and the warm soft shadows hidden just beneath heavy balls…  
  
Bilbo swallows thickly and grabs at the oil, popping the top off and liberally coating his fingers and kissing open, sloppy kisses at the tender skin inside Thorin’s thighs.   
  
“Open your eyes and look at me.” Bilbo says breathlessly, dipping his hand beneath Thorin’s balls and sliding his slick fingers over the warm skin just behind them, pressing up and rubbing before gliding further down to run the pads over Thorin’s entrance. Thorin’s eyes fly open and he lifts his head to stare down and oh bless that face.  
  
Thorin looks a complete debauched mess, eyes dark and half lidded, glassy and dazed, his eyebrows screwed up in pleasure and lips parted, swollen and wet from being held tight between Thorin’s teeth. Bilbo’s seen so many of the wondrous faces Thorin makes in their lovemaking, but he can’t recall ever seeing him looking so open, so vulnerable and bare.  
  
“Gorgeous, that’s perfect love, keep looking at me.” Bilbo presses and circles his finger around the tight muscle, then slowly glides his finger in, biting his lip at the tight, hot clench. Thorin’s voice hitches into a whine, his legs shifting further apart as he bears down. Bilbo sinks his finger fully in, twists at the wrist and starts a slow, shallow thrust that has Thorin moaning openly and shutting his eyes.  
  
“Ah ah ah, eyes open. Keep watching me.”  
  
Blue eyes squint open, shining and perfectly matching the deepening pink over Thorin’s cheeks and his heaving chest. Bilbo holds that heavy gaze, mouthing at the smooth skin inside Thorin’s knee and biting just enough to have Thorin jolting and gasping desperately.  
  
Bilbo shushes him softly, petting soothing strokes up and down Thorin’s thigh and working a second finger in. This particular act isn’t new with them, though Thorin’s passivity is, so it doesn’t take long for Bilbo to reach and curl his fingers right where he wants them. The whine wrenched from Thorin is gutted, broken into rapid gasping, and Bilbo realizes how close the dwarf is already. He takes his free hand from Thorin’s thigh and wraps his fingers around the now steadily dripping cock, circling them tight around the base. Thorin’s whine chokes off into a cry, hips shuddering up against Bilbo’s grip.  
  
“Don’t come.” Bilbo says, keeping his fingers pressed deep in and pulling his hand away from Thorin’s cock. “Don’t come.” He says again when Thorin shakes his head desperately, keening and biting his lips and _oh_ that’s a sight. “Not until I say you can. Can you do that for me love? Just hold on, you’re doing so well, gods you’re wonderful.” Bilbo pulls his fingers out and slides a third in, finding that hard knot within Thorin again and swiping his fingertips in a wide circle around it, and he swears he could come at the deep, ruined cry Thorin makes.   
  
Bilbo takes up a rhythm rocking his fingertips inside Thorin, who is rapidly falling apart. The thighs bracketing Bilbo shake violently with each bold stroke, and each breath comes with a cracked and wild groan or creaking whine. There’s only a shining gleam telling Bilbo that Thorin still has his eyes slightly open, and another twist of his fingers has them shutting with a pained wail from Thorin.  
  
“Eyes open, lovely. That’s it Thorin, I have you. I’ve got you love it’s alright.” He runs his hand up and down Thorin’s side, as if he isn’t the cause of Thorin’s anguish with each twist and curl of his fingers. He changes his angle a little, driving up and groaning in answer to the sobs that Thorin’s breath breaks into. Thorin’s mouth moves around the great gulps of air, the fabric of the pillow dangerously tight in his grip.   
  
Bilbo can recognize the beginnings of a pattern to shapes Thorin makes with his lips, though it takes a few times before Thorin’s voice keens out, starting small and shaking and building into a wild plea.  
  
“Bilbo- Bilbo, Bilbo please- _please_ I can not- I need-”  
  
“Sshhhh it’s alright pet, I’ve got you love. What do you need?” He can hazard a guess, but oh does he very much want to hear it.  
  
“Please- please Bilbo. Please! I need- I need you. I need- Ah _Mahal_ take me Bilbo take me- _please_!” Thorin drives his hips down on Bilbo’s fingers, teeth clenching and voice cracking on another whine. Bilbo had thought to hold off on his own pleasure until afterwards, but Thorin’s voice, dark and rich and ruined, begging to be fucked, sends a white hot bolt down his spine down to his already aching cock.   
  
“Yes. Yes I- gods help me you’re perfect. You’re so good Thorin, so good, just wait a few moments let me just-” It’s agony pulling his fingers out, especially with the low protesting sound Thorin makes with the loss. Bilbo nearly drops the bottle of oil with one hand as he yanks his trousers open with the other, groaning when he frees his cock from the pressure and just about pours half the bottle over himself in his haste.  
  
“Take your hands down, that’s it, very good, just like that, now grab behind your knees. Gods just like that Thorin, hold yourself open for me.” Thorin obeys every order instantly, hands gripping behind his knees and nearly folding in half as he holds his legs open wide, looking up at Bilbo with a raking need and heart aching adoration. This is going to be the death of Bilbo, it honestly is. No one who can snarl and growl and shove Bilbo up off his feet against a wall should be able to look so gorgeously fuckable at the same time.  
  
Bilbo leans forward and braces one hand on the bed by Thorin’s side, feeling far too warm in his clothes that he can’t be assed to take off, not when he’s more concerned with guiding himself to that slicked, soft and giving heat. Thorin is so open and wet from Bilbo’s work, nearly sucking Bilbo’s cock in and enveloping him in a gripping perfectly wet and fluttering warmth. Thorin still obeys the earlier command to keep his eyes open, looking up at Bilbo as he groans in relief.   
  
“Yes-yes, yes Bilbo please-!” With his hands holding his legs apart and his back flat against the bed he can’t find any traction, nothing to brace himself against so he can fuck himself on Bilbo like he usually would. He’s left keening through gritted teeth, breaking into a litany of pretty pleading when Bilbo sinks as deep as he can possibly go and presses his hips tight against that perfect rear.   
  
He can’t reach enough to kiss Thorin, but he can shift his weight down onto one elbow on the mattress, kissing wetly at the pounding pulse in Thorin’s throat and bringing his free hand up to cup Thorin’s cheek in his palm.  
  
“Please-please Bilbo move! I need- need to feel-”  
  
“Ssshhhh…” Bilbo breathes, rolling his hips in a horridly slow rhythm. It’s hardly thrusting, more of a slow rocking that he’s sure is torture for both of them. “Do you need to come, Thorin? Think you can come just from this?”  
  
“Yes yes yes Bilbo _please_!”  
  
Bilbo kisses the pulse again, lightly setting his teeth to skin and feeling the vibrations of Thorin’s wrecked groans against his mouth. “Not yet. Hold on for me just a little longer Thorin. You’re so good, you have no idea. You’re amazing, you feel so good Thorin.”   
  
Thorin whimpers, hips stuttering up ineffectively, not enough to gain any relief but just enough that Bilbo can feel the hot wet smear against his belly from Thorin’s throbbing erection.   
  
He can’t say how long he keeps the tortuous pace, the slow grinding angled up exactly where Thorin needs more than what Bilbo gives. Everything is lost in a glowing fuzz filling his mind, in Thorin sweating and shaking and openly giving under him, gasping wildly at air and shaking with the need to come. Bilbo whispers a nonsensical stream of praise against Thorin’s throat, not wanting to raise his voice anymore and possibly cover the constant pleas and begging falling from Thorin’s lips.   
  
“Please please please please oh please Bilbo please-” It goes on and on, barely over a cracked whisper and unusually reedy from Thorin’s usually low, smoldering voice. It’s amazing that he hasn’t come yet, and it’s the thought that he’s been holding back, keeping himself at the brink by will just because Bilbo told him to, that has Bilbo snapping his hips forward.  
  
The noise Thorin makes is dangerously close to a scream.  
  
After that there’s nothing slow, no possible way Bilbo could be slow. He drives into Thorin and bites at his throat, his shirt sticking hotly to his back and his knees skidding on the furs with the force of his thrusts. He pounds into Thorin, each cry punched from Thorin’s throat sending a new flash of heat shooting low in Bilbo’s belly. He can feel it coming already, coiling tight and molten with each thrust.  
  
“Come for me Thorin. Come on come for me want to feel you come on my cock-” The words are just out of his mouth when Thorin shudders violently and forgets his orders to keep his hands in place, throwing his arms around Bilbo and digging his fingers into the hobbit’s back hard enough to bruise as he really does scream. The sound cracks in Thorin’s throat, shattering into ragged gasps and moans that are almost Bilbo’s name as his come spills hot between them.   
  
The fingers bruising into him, the sound of Thorin’s wrecked voice on his name, the hot clench throbbing around his cocks. It’s all too much, too overwhelming, and Bilbo’s gasping Thorin’s name and slamming his hips in only once more, grabbing a handful of dark hair and hanging on for his life as his orgasm punches through him.   
  
It feels like falling off a cliff afterwards, and Bilbo flops boneless against Thorin, sliding out with a wince and then sighing happily when Thorin holds him tight to that wonderful chest.   
  
He’s very fortunate that the best way for Thorin to wind down after this has been to be still and let Thorin cling, since he’s very sure he would be hardly good for much else at the moment. It’s also a good thing that he hardly weighs a thing to the dwarf, because he certainly isn’t going to be moving from this spot on Thorin’s chest. Not with the shivering hands over his back and the heaving lungs under him and the heartbeat thudding wildly beneath his the hand he brings to rest over Thorin’s ribs.  
  
“Are you alright?” He finally asks, lifting his head with great effort to peer blearily up at Thorin.  
  
Thorin is still panting, eyes finally shut as he visibly struggles to regain himself. “Yes. Can’t talk.” He croaks, and Bilbo chuckles weakly, wincing at the sticky slick when he tries to push himself up.  
  
“Ugh. You made quite the mess.” Thorin snorts, and probably would have pointed out that it was entirely Bilbo’s fault, if he were able to talk. “Let go of me so I can wash us up.”  
  
Thorin lets go, but also rolls so Bilbo topples off of him. He presses a quick, shaky kiss to Bilbo’s forehead, nuzzling at his hairline.   
  
“Let me.” He murmurs. Bilbo only nods, knowing Thorin will probably have a bit of trouble walking, but that he needs these little acts to settle himself down again. He does take the opportunity to thoroughly enjoy the sight of Thorin’s bum slicked and looking very well used as he stumbles on wobbling legs to the bathroom.   
  
Bilbo shucks out of his sweat soaks clothes, throwing them to the side with a grimace and settling back down on the bed. He doesn’t realized he’s dozing off until the warm, wet cloth on his stomach rouses him. The gentle strokes feel downright luxurious, and he stretches lazily under it, smiling up at Thorin.  
  
“Love you.”  
  
Thorin smiles warmly, still quiet and relaxed, unusually soft after their coupling. It’s not the raw openness of before, but there’s still a vulnerable lazy calm that Bilbo can’t look away from.  
  
“I love you too.” Thorin murmurs, tossing the cloth aside and settling down besides Bilbo, who instantly turns to throw an arm and leg over Thorin. Soon enough there’s a head of heavy hair tucked against his chest and muscled arms around his middle. “You were wonderful. That was perfect.” Thorin mumbles against him, already sounding close to sleeping.  
  
“Knew we’d get it eventually. Though I can hardly feel my legs.”  
  
“You can hardly feel yours? I was amazed that I did not end up bashing my brains out on the tiles in the washroom.” Thorin huffs, though Bilbo thinks that’s hardly a complaint.  
  
Bilbo chuckles, and hums sleepily, lazily tracing circles against Thorin’s shoulders until he feels his dwarf’s breaths slow and deepen into sleep. It’s only a few minutes after that exhaustion pulls Bilbo down after him.

**Author's Note:**

> [Here's](http://linddzz.tumblr.com/tagged/sub%21thorin) a link for my tag for all the Sub!thorin stuff on my tumblr. Including such fun as answering asks about this odd little verse and a little drabble silly prequel fic that didn't really fit into the overall narrative.


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